


The Silver Lining

by Glisseo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 19:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glisseo/pseuds/Glisseo
Summary: Collection of Harry/Ginny prompt fills/one-shots from tumblr, under the most unimaginative title ever.





	1. Particularly Happy Hour

_Prompt fill for "Ginny and Harry early relationship adorableness?"_

* * *

 

It seemed almost too good to be true, a rare spell of glorious weather coinciding with the happiest weeks of Harry's life, but he wasn't about to complain; he had better things to do nowadays, like spending every free hour he had down by the lake with Ginny.

"I really ought to be revising …"

"You said that half an hour ago."

"Well, it's still true." Ginny rolled over onto her front, propping herself up on one elbow, and squinted at Harry. "You know, as the older, responsible one, you're supposed to tell me to put my education first."

"Who d'you take me for, Hermione?" he asked disbelievingly. "I'd never say that …"

"So I can blame you if I fail my OWLs, then?"

"Might as well. Although it might be the last straw for your mum," he added worriedly, "after I gave Fred and George the money for the shop … she might think I'm a bad influence."

"You are," said Ginny sternly. "Look!  _Forcing_ me to lie in the sun with you every day, you terror, and then there's the matter of the tattoo –"

"Oh, yeah - I got another one, did I tell you?"

"Ooh, what's it this time?"

"Well, it's Slughorn, on a unicorn," said Harry, maintaining a straight face with some difficulty, "and  _he's_ got a tattoo of a unicorn on – er – a dragon. And the unicorn has a moustache, too."

"The one Slughorn's riding, or the one in his tattoo?"

Harry thought about it. "Er - both."

Ginny burst out laughing, and he grinned.

"I am  _very_ interested in seeing that," she said, eyeing him with a look that made his knees feel rather like jelly. "Where is it, did you say?"

"Erm, left foot. Fourth toe." Harry gestured. "It's very small."

"That's not what you want to hear," Ginny giggled.

Harry gaped at her for a moment, then snorted.

"I think you're right, you  _should_ be revising …"

Still giggling – it was rapidly becoming one of his favourite sounds, that - she said, "you could test me, if you're so keen."

"All right, what's Flitwick's favourite colour?"

"Yeah, I was thinking more along the lines of things that'll actually be on my exams …"

"How do you know that won't be on your exams? So arrogant," said Harry, tutting. "I've done my OWLs, remember? I know things." He paused. "I mean, we were asked about Sprout's favourite food, but -"

"And?"

"And what?"

"What is Sprout's favourite food?" Ginny asked. "C'mon, the suspense is unbearable."

"Oh, right. Well, I don't know if I got it right, obviously, but I put - sprouts." He shrugged. "Thought it seemed logical."

"So what would be your logical guess at Flitwick's favourite colour?"

"Er … brown."

"Brown?" she repeated. "No one's favourite colour is  _brown_."

Harry, looking into her bright, dancing eyes, had to silently disagree.

"Well - doesn't matter, does it? It's not  _my_  problem now," he said, grinning at her.

Huffing, and muttering about  _the indignity_ , she rolled onto her back again, but hooked her ankles over his. Her feet were bare, shoes and socks tossed aside, and her toenails were painted a lurid, sparkly purple.

It really was a blessing, the good weather, he thought, blinking up at the clear blue sky that stretched for miles above. Even though a number of other students were fanned out across the grounds, he and Ginny were largely concealed from prying eyes in a way that they wouldn't have been in the common room.  
(He didn't even dare imagine Ron's reaction if he were to take Ginny up to their dorm, but he thought it would probably be unpleasant.)

It was remarkably easy, in Ginny's presence, with her flowery scent on the warm summer air and vivid hair glimmering in the sunlight, to put out of mind Horcruxes and detention and Malfoy and all those problems he knew were not simply going to go away, but it felt so wonderful to have something else to not only distract him but make him genuinely happy. He could not help feeling that he had earned the right to be happy for a bit.

"Are you thinking again?" came Ginny's voice. "You know it's not good for you."

"Just a bit," said Harry. He glanced over at her: she was gazing upwards, but wore a little smile he knew was for him.

"Tell me something," he suggested.

"Like what?"

"I dunno – anything."

She appeared to think about it for a moment or two, chewing on her bottom lip, then said: "One of the gnomes back home is called Simon, and he speaks fluent Spanish."

Harry laughed. "Is that true?"

"What does it matter? You never said I should tell you something  _true_."

"Fair enough," he conceded. "All right - tell me something true, then."

This time she was silent for much longer. Harry wondered if she might have fallen asleep - and then, worriedly, if he had in fact bored her to sleep – and was just about to look over and check when he felt her shift beside him –

Before he knew it, the sky had vanished, and Ginny was hovering over him, that smile still in place, sending his stomach into full acrobatics as she leaned in and kissed him with such intensity that his breath caught in his throat. After a few seconds, his mind cleared enough for him to reach up and wrap his arms around her, pulling her down fully.

"That was the best way I could think of to say it," she said when, several long minutes later, they separated, panting slightly.

"Ung," said Harry intelligently. "Er. Yeah. That was – well said." He exhaled, his heart rate still far faster than normal. "That was something true, was it?"

"Well, it wasn't a lie," said Ginny, smiling, and Harry decided to swiftly resume the kissing, which was very nice indeed.

"Was that the bell?" she said some time later, glancing up at the castle, where figures were disappearing up the stone steps.

"No," said Harry, kissing her again, "it definitely wasn't."

* * *

"I don't want to know," said Ron grouchily, when Harry slipped into Charms five minutes late with rumbled and grass-stained robes.

"That suits both of us, then."

 


	2. Really Divine

_Prompt fill for "Harry teases Ginny by telling his little kids about that Valentine she sent him when he was 12?"_

* * *

 

Harry had always enjoyed watching Ginny get ready, right from the early years when she would sneak out of his cottage at the break of dawn to get back to the Burrow before her mother noticed she was gone. Back then, she'd complained that his gaze distracted her, so that her fingers would fumble over her plait or the buttons of her shirt. Now, with eleven years of marriage behind them, she claimed that he no longer distracted her.

That, however, did not stop him from trying.

The sky was making a valiant attempt to snow on February 14th, even though it looked more like sleet to Harry's eye, and so naturally the children were even more overexcited than usual. Already bathed and pyjama-d in anticipation of Aunt Andromeda's arrival, they had clattered into their parents' bedroom shrieking and yelling, where Harry had made an attempt to wrestle them into submission. It had only half-worked; his three children were now at least stationary, surrounding him on the bed, but they were all chattering away at speeds he hadn't thought possible.

Over at the dressing table, Ginny gave him a patented  _look_  in the mirror, eyeing his rumpled suit with exasperation. They'd long favoured Muggle restaurants for special events; on Valentine's Day in particular, places like Amortentia and The Everblooming Rose were bound to be packed with witches and wizards who would kill to espy the famous Potters on a romantic evening out.

Harry grimaced at his wife, who rolled her eyes and reached for her hairbrush.

"Daaaddy, why do you have to go?" Lily was demanding at the top of her voice. "I don't  _want_ you to go …"

"Because it's Valentine's Day," Harry explained patiently. "Mummy and I are going to have a romantic meal. That's what mummies and daddies do on Valentine's Day."

"Valentine's Day is poo," James announced matter-of-factly. "I think girls are yuck."

"Give it a few years," Harry told him wisely. James looked horrified.

"Why a few years?" Albus asked curiously. "Rose already fancies a boy at school. He's got a bike and he thinks that's better than a broom –"

Harry could see Ginny's eyes widen in her reflection as she fastened on her earrings. "Al, you didn't tell this boy you had a broom, did you?"

"No," said Albus after a moment's hesitation. To Harry's amusement, he quickly changed the subject "So why does Rose already like boys but James thinks girls are yuck?"

"I dunno … I think girls notice boys earlier," said Harry thoughtfully. He saw that Ginny was starting on her make-up, and a wicked thought occurred to him. "I mean, Mummy was only eleven when she sent me my first Valentine –"

Ginny gasped; her hand, holding her lipstick, jerked, leaving a thick red line across her cheek. "Don't you  _dare_ ," she hissed furiously.

"No, tell us!" the children begged.

Harry leant back against the pillows and gathered his children to him.

"It was my second year," he began reminiscently. Ginny's ears were turning scarlet as she reapplied her make-up. "We had the awful Professor Lockhart that year, and he made a great thing of Valentine's Day – he sent singing dwarves around the school to deliver Valentines."

"That's horrid," said James disgustedly. "I hope he got sacked."

"Er - in a manner of speaking," said Harry. "Anyway, imagine my surprise when, as I walked to my next lesson, one of the dwarves came up to me and said they had a singing Valentine for me."

"Mummy, you wrote a  _song_ for Daddy?" Lily gasped. "How did it go?"

"That's a good question," Harry said quickly, before Ginny could speak – or possibly shout. "How  _did_ it go? Do you know, it was so long ago, I can hardly remember …"

His wife eyed him beadily, knowing perfectly well that he  _could_  remember, as James, Albus and Lily protested loudly.

"I think it went something like …"

Harry cleared his throat.

" _His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,_  
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.  
I wish he was mine, he's really divine,  
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."

When he finished, there was a dead silence.

"Mum," said James eventually, "that's crap."

"Now," Harry remonstrated sternly. "She was only eleven, remember. Give her a bit of credit. At least it rhymes."

"I think it's … nice," put in Albus, the eight-year old diplomat.

"Me too!" said Lily loyally. "I like the bit about the fresh pickled toad."

"That's my favourite part," Harry agreed solemnly.

Ginny, who was by now crimson in the face, opened her mouth, no doubt to make Harry wish he had never opened his own – but at that moment, the doorbell pealed loudly, and the children screamed in delight, tripping over each other's limbs in the furious attempt to reach the front door and greet Andromeda first.

"Are you ready?" Harry enquired delicately.

"I hope the sofa is comfortable enough for you tonight," was all Ginny said in reply.


	3. The Art of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for a sentence prompt - "the paint's supposed to go WHERE?" - and I can only apologise for where my mind went.

From the moment he stepped over the threshold of his house, Harry Potter had a sense that something was wrong. He was, of course, an excellent Auror - but, admittedly, it had slightly more to do with the fact that his oddly flustered wife was waiting for him in the hallway, gasping, "oh, thank goodness!" at soon as he came through the door.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked urgently, taking in her flushed face, over-bright eyes and dishevelled hair, which looked as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly. "Is it the kids? Your parents? What's happened?"

"No, no, nothing's happened!" Ginny assured him immediately. "Everyone's fine, the boys are at Mum and Dad's. It's just - well, we've had a - a -  _delivery._ "

"A delivery?" Harry frowned, shrugging off his cloak and bag and stuffing them in the cupboard under the stairs. "What kind of delivery?"

"I think you'd better come and see for yourself."

Deeply confused - she was not usually this cryptic - Harry followed Ginny into the kitchen.  
He could see what she was referring to at once. The kitchen table was barely visible: it was strewn with the debris of a very well - and very garishly - packaged parcel (Ginny could never manage to unwrap anything tidily; she made more of a mess at Christmas than their young sons), which seemed to be a large cardboard box, pride of place in the middle of the sea of violet and magenta ribbon and tissue paper.

"What  _is_ it?"

"It's from Madam Freya's Love Emporium," said Ginny, her lips twitching.

"… Madam who's  _what?_ "

Ginny plucked a beribboned label from the mess and showed him. It read, in flowing calligraphic script:

_Madam Freya_ _'_ _s Love Emporium_ _  
_ _Supplier of exotic aids_ _  
_ _to the art of love_ __  


"'Exotic aids to the art of love'?" Harry looked at his wife, unable to keep the horror from his expression. "That can't mean …"

"Oh, but it does," said Ginny. She pointed at the box. "Madam Freya herself sent us a whole range. She enclosed a note. Where is it … oh, here.  _'_ _A little something to put the spice back in your marriage, darlings. No need to thank me - just enjoy._ _'_ And then there's a postscript:  _'_ _Of course, if either of you were to mention it to the press, darlings, I would not object at all_ _'_."

"What makes her think the spice has gone from our marriage?" Harry demanded. "We had curry just the other week."

Ginny snorted. "Wait til you see what's actually  _in_ here," she advised. The colour flooded to her face again: through her hair, Harry could see that her ears had gone scarlet, too. "It's - er - it's something."

Curious, he moved over to the box and peered inside. It was filled with an assortment of containers: glass jars, bottles, tubs …

"There's an instruction booklet," Ginny said rather worryingly, tossing it to him. He pulled up a chair and flipped through the strangely scented pages, throwing uneasy glances at the contents of the box as names like 'Exceedingly Erotic Foot Cream' jumped out at him. Everything seemed to have an alarmingly graphic description of its use.

"This is  _ridiculous_ ," said Harry, feeling faintly scandalised. "Have you  _seen_ all this stuff? Potions,  _lotions_ , paint -" He broke off as he read the instructions, and his head shot up in abject horror. "Hang on. The paint's supposed to go WHERE?"

"I think it's … edible paint," said Ginny, blushing harder still.

" _Edible_ paint?" Harry stared at her. "Edible paint. Edible … and she wants us to  _endorse_ this stuff? In public?"

"Oh my goodness, can you imagine if Rita found out?" Ginny giggled. "I can see the headline now: 'Potter Pair Put Porny Products to Practice'."

Harry laughed so hard his sides ached.

"There'd probably be little stickers on every product - "'The Chosen One's Choice'."

"With a picture of you giving the thumbs up." They were both in fits in laughter now, clutching at each other, until the instruction booklet slipped from Harry's lap to hit the floor with a  _thwack_ that brought them back to sobriety.

There was a lengthy silence, broken only by Ginny's hiccups.

"We should send it back," she said eventually. "Shouldn't we?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely."

"I mean, I'm sure they're very, um, good -"

"Right, right - but we don't need them. And we certainly couldn't endorse them."

"Of course not."

"That's settled, then," said Harry. He got to his feet and pulled his wand from his pocket to rewrap the package. As garish as the wrappings were, the contents were actually rather nice-looking; the glass jars were gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the kitchen window.  _Exotic aids_.

"You know," he began, "I'm thinking. Maybe it would be - er - rude, to send it back."

Ginny shot him a quizzical look. "Well, we can't just have it all lying around, what if the boys fou-  _oh_." Her eyes widened as the penny dropped. "You mean …?"

"I dunno. Maybe. What do you think?"

They regarded each other seriously.

"OK," said Ginny, after a moment's hesitation, making a grab for the box. "But we're never,  _ever_ telling anyone about this, and we're  _definitely_ not writing back."

**Later** **…**

"Perhaps we should send a thank you note, though."

…  **and nine months after that**

 _The birth of a child is always a joyful occasion, and people all across the country were delighted last week when we revealed, exclusively, that Harry Potter and wife Ginevra had welcomed their third. (The gender, name and precise birthday of the child is as yet unknown as all family and friends of the Potters have refused to comment, with the exception of joke shop mogul George Weasley, who told_ Witch Weekly  _on Tuesday:_ _"_ _it_ _'_ _s at least half human, and almost definitely Harry_ _'_ _s_ _"_ _._

_But since then, new information has come to light which may put a different slant on the circumstances. Was the Potters_ _'_ _third child, as they will claim, a planned addition to their wholesome family? Or - as now seems the case - was it in fact the result of the obscene acts that clearly go on behind closed doors?_

_Days after we reported news of the birth, we were contacted by entrepreneur Madam Freya, founder of_ Madam Freya's Love Emporium  _(premises as yet unsecured)._

_"_ _Nine months ago exactly, I sent the Potters a selection of my finest products,_ _"_ _she revealed._ _"_ _I knew they already had two young children, and they_ _'_ _re both busy people, and these things do take the spark out of a marriage. Well, that_ _'_ _s what I_ _'_ _m here for, and I was happy to supply them with aids free of charge, asking nothing in return._ _"_

_And fortunately so, for she received nothing in return - until now. Madam Freya considers helping to bring a new child into the world perfect repayment for her services._

"

 _I knew at once it wasn_ _'_ _t a coincidence. How could it be, darling? My products work one hundred percent of the time, guaranteed. Part of what makes them so special is that most of the ingredients used are fertility aids. No, that child is a child of the_ Love Emporium _, make no mistake._ _"_

_No doubt readers will be shocked at the revelation that such prominent social figures - often considered to be role models - are engaging in what some might call disgusting and debauched behaviour. Some might even ask the question of how we can trust such people to contribute to our society - or even raise children - when they clearly have questionable morals. Perhaps, though, this is only to be expected from a couple who are both known to come from troubled backgrounds - not to mention the fact that Ginevra_ _'_ _s parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, had seven children themselves. It is surely not unreasonable, given the evidence, to suggest that sex addiction may run in the family - but it certainly does not bode well for the three Potter children, who, it seems now, may have no role models of their own in life._

_(We do, of course, offer our sincerest congratulations to Harry and Ginevra.)_

_By Rita Skeeter_


	4. Moving Day

_Prompt fill - "Hinny moving in together?"_

* * *

 

Mrs. Weasley cried when the news was broken to her, which baffled almost everyone else gathered in the kitchen for Sunday lunch.

"It's either because her youngest child is growing up," said George, helpfully, "or because she's going to be living in sin."

Harry choked on his drink.

"Living in sin!" Ginny repeated crossly, her ears turning fuchsia. "That's such a stupid idea, and anyway, what about you and Angelina? And Ron and Hermione will be living together now, I don't see anyone making a fuss about  _that_ –"

"No one's making a fuss about you and Harry, dear, we're very happy for you," said Mrs. Weasley, mopping her eyes. "It's just – our little girl, in her first home! Oh, dears, you will come back and visit, won't you?"

Nobody felt it was worth pointing out that Ginny had moved out of the Burrow some time ago, to share a flat in Cardiff with several fellow Harpies, or that each Weasley child who had left always came back to visit frequently – with the exception of Charlie, who turned up sporadically and unexpectedly, usually sporting some horrible new burns. Sunday lunch at the Burrow was almost mandatory, which Harry didn't mind at all. He couldn't imagine ever not wanting to see the Weasleys.

"Of course we will," he said easily.

"And you will be  _all right_ , won't you?" Mrs. Weasley pressed on anxiously. "Feeding yourselves, and – and cleaning, and doing your washing, and –"

"Don't say you're going to offer to  _do it for them_ ," Ron interrupted, sounding scandalised. "What rubbish! Harry and I've been doing our own washing and cooking since we left here, he doesn't need any help at all! Unless," he added, his tone changing rapidly, "unless you'd like to do me and Hermione's washing, Mum, in which case –"

" _No_ ," said Hermione firmly.

"- oh all right then, but you know you hate it!"

"No one's going to do anything for us," said Ginny calmly. "We're both adults and we're perfectly capable, thank you very much."

"Well, if you're sure, dear …" Mrs. Weasley still looked worried; Harry was touched by her concern, but it was laughable, the thought that he and Ginny wouldn't be able to look after themselves, when he, Harry, was an Auror, and Ginny a professional and increasingly successful Quidditch player; to everyone else, they were competent young adults, but to Mrs. Weasley it seemed they would always be children who needed their socks washing.

"At least let us help you move," Mr Weasley suggested genially. "I wouldn't mind having another look at the place, myself."

"That's really kind of you," said Harry, "but actually Ron already offered to give up his weekend to help us –"

"Ha, ha," said Ron sardonically, surreptitiously making a very rude hand gesture in Harry's direction. "You know what, I'd love to, but I can't, I'm busy."

"Doing what?" George asked suspiciously.

"Minding my own business," said Ron.

* * *

In the end, he did come by, as did most of the Weasleys - ostensibly to help, but really to have a nose around Harry and Ginny's new home. Mr and Mrs. Weasley, characteristically, insisted on doing as much as they could, and Hermione, Percy and Bill mucked in too, but the rest were far more of a hindrance than a help in moving Harry and Ginny's things from the London and Cardiff flats.

"What's this room here?" asked George as he pulled open a door adjacent to the main bedroom and poked his head in. "Is this where you're going to keep your illegitimate children? I –  _OWWW!_ "

"Sorry," said Ginny blithely, rescuing the box of books she had dropped on George's foot, "my mistake."

Downstairs, Fleur had perched herself on the sofa with baby Victoire in her arms ("I would love to 'elp, but I 'ave ze baby. Eef I deed not 'ave ze baby, I would 'elp. Eet ees most unfortunate.") and was giving a running commentary of her observations.

"Eet ees very beautiful," she was saying, approvingly. "Per'aps not as beautiful as our 'ome, but eet ees lovely still. Such a pretty place, I 'ad not been 'ere before. But ze – signs, I am not understanding zem, ze words are not Eenglish –"

"No, it's Welsh," Harry explained. "It doesn't really make sense." He'd struggled with the name of the little village when telling people where they were moving to, but when he said "it's in Wales," he would invariably receive an understanding nod.

"Well, eet ees a gorgeous place, and so near ze sea, 'ow lucky, and ze 'ouse ees so charming, I imagine you weell be very cold in ze winter, but zere is ze fireplace, so darling – Bill, eesn't eet nice?"

"Very nice," said Bill, grinning at Harry. "Well chosen. Very different from London, but I don't suppose that's a bad thing."

To Harry, it was perfect. He loved London, but often craved peace and anonymity, and could not imagine a place more perfect than the little village in the breath-taking Welsh peninsula, with its great craggy coastline and brightly painted houses: a respite from the clamour of London and the Ministry. The thought of leaving the Auror Office each day and returning to this cottage, to see Ginny, felt like more than he could have possibly wished for. He looked around the uneven living room, with its dark wooden beams and great fireplace and wooden floors already strewn with colourful woven rugs, and pictured evenings in front of the hearth; Monday mornings in the small kitchen; lazy Sunday mornings in their bedroom …

"Look at you bunch of slackers, standing around nattering," said George, coming through with a single cushion in his hand. "You sicken me, I hope you know that."

"D'you need a hand with that?" Harry asked, straight-faced, gesturing at the cushion.

"Less of the cheek, my friend, or my attitude towards you shacking up with my sister may change –"

"Well, you know where to find us if it does," said Harry.

The cushion hit him squarely in the face.

Gradually, the cottage started to take shape, and the Weasleys drifted away in twos and threes. Ron and George in particular seemed rather reluctant to leave them alone, but finally, they did, and Harry and Ginny stood in their new home, blinking at each other.

"So."

"I know. We  _live_ together," said Ginny, her voice several octaves higher than usual. "We live  _together!_ Alone! Oh …" She closed her eyes and flung out her arms, a blissful expression spreading over her face. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful," Harry agreed, smiling at her. "Really, really … wonderful."

Evening had crept in, and his stomach was starting to rumble. Mrs. Weasley had, despite protests, left a pantry full of food, but Harry didn't feel much like cooking.

"I don't feel much like cooking," said Ginny, sighing. "But I'm hungry. Shall we go out?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"You know, I think I saw a chip shop in the village …"

He returned twenty minutes later, freezing cold but clutching two steaming paper-wrapped parcels, to find that Ginny had lit the fire and set candles floating around the living room, put out plates on the coffee table, and poured two glasses of wine.

"Welcome home," she said with a lascivious grin.

 


	5. Little Sister

_Prompt fill for "Harry and Ginny in St. Mungo's introducing James and Al to their baby sister"_

* * *

 

"Now," said Harry, "we're going somewhere very important today, so we need to be on our best behaviour."

His sons, who had been vigorously play-fighting only seconds earlier, looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"We need to be  _very very good_ ," he added, firmly.

"Am good," said Albus.

Beside him, James stiffened.

"I am  _more_ good," he said challengingly, glancing at his brother. "More than Al."

Albus frowned. "Am good."

"I MORE good."

"Boys," said Harry, hurriedly placing himself between them, "boys, we don't fight …" he trailed off, as the realisation hit him that who was 'more good' was not the worst thing they could be squabbling over. In fact …

"OK," he said coaxingly, "let's see who can be the  _most good_."

James eyed him consideringly. "Prize?" he demanded.

"Yes, there'll be a prize."

"Toy?"

"A-ha, you'll have to wait and see - if you can be good enough."

This seemed to have the desired effect. Both Al and James sat very still, shooting surreptitious looks at each other, and Harry breathed an inward sigh of relief. He was the Head of the Auror Department, had got himself out of numerous sticky situations – but nothing was more challenging than getting his two young sons to behave.

And it was about to get worse, he thought, with a small smile. It might be said that girls were better behaved, but if his newborn daughter was anything like her mother -

Well, he had to wonder if they would have to wait until all three had gone to Hogwarts before the house was quiet again.

Miraculously, the boys let themselves be washed, dressed and fed with minimal trouble, though Harry was sure Ginny could have done a better job. He didn't bother trying to comb their hair – it never made any difference – but he thought all three looked relatively presentable as they left the house and made their way to the hospital.

"Remember, Mummy will be very tired," he told Al and James, once the Welcome Witch had pointed them in the right direction. "So we need to be careful –"

"Why?" asked James.

"Because she's just had a baby, so –"

"Why?"

"Well, it's very difficult." Harry winced at the memory of the previous day. He had been present for the births of all three of his children (though it had been a close thing with James) and he still didn't completely understand how labour worked. All he knew was that it looked – and sounded – extremely painful, and he was not surprised that Ginny consistently threatened to remove certain parts of his body in an equally painful manner.

"Why –"

"Look, we just – we just need to be gentle with Mummy, OK?" Harry interrupted; if he didn't nip James' line of questioning in the bud, it could tend to get out of hand. "She's not up to playing right now."

"Will baby play?"

"Er – no, not yet."

"Why?"

"Oh – look, here's Mummy's room!" said Harry quickly. He tapped on the door, heard Ginny call 'come in!', and ushered the boys inside. His heart swelled at the sight of his daughter – his  _daughter!_ – in her mother's arms. His eyes met Ginny's, and they shared a look: a secret, knowing smile, an unspoken acknowledgement of what they had experienced together. It was a very different atmosphere now, than it had been yesterday, frantic and hazy and dizzying, and then the stillness of the moments after, when they had met their little girl for the first time, held her. It didn't change, Harry had thought then, the feeling of becoming a parent. That wonderment, and pride, and joy - it never went away.

"Here are my boys," said Ginny from the bed, beaming at them. "Mummy's missed you!"

James and Al both started towards her, and then, remembering their father's warning, hung back warily.

"Come here," said Harry, noticing this, and he carefully swung them each onto the bed, happily taking his daughter from Ginny so she could kiss the boys and give them a one-armed hug.

"Where's the baby?" James asked, peering round. "Mummy, I being good –"

"Am good too," Al told his mother quietly.

"You're both being  _very_ good," said Ginny amusedly, shooting Harry a look that said  _how did you do that?_ "Do you want to meet your sister?"

"'Yes pease," said James eagerly, so Harry perched on the edge of the bed, angling his arms so they could see into the bundle of blankets.

"This is your sister."

"Lily," said Ginny, and Harry turned to look at her so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash.

"Are you sure -?"

"Yes." Her voice was soft, but her eyes bored into him, seeing everything, knowing just how much it meant to him. "It's a lovely name. And anyway –" Her tone became bright again – "we were talking, the two of us, and she said she'd like to be called Lily, please."

"Well, I can't argue with that," said Harry, struggling to keep his voice steady. He smiled. "One day old, and already telling us what to do."

"Oh, yes. We'll be running circles around her." Ginny hesitated. "I was thinking – for a middle name –"

"Luna?"

"I – well,  _yes_ , how did you know that?!"

Harry gestured at their daughter, grinning. "She told me."

"You think you know me so well, don't you …"

"Yes," said Harry. "Because I do."

He turned back to James and Al, who were starting to fidget.

"Boys – this is your sister." He paused. "Lily Luna."

They regarded her curiously.

"Is pink," said Al.

"So were you, when you were born."

"Why?" asked James.

 


	6. Biggest Fan

_Prompt fill - "Ginny has a match scheduled for Valentine's Day"_

* * *

 

Someone had draped heart-shaped bunting across the tops of all the cubicles, and irrational as it was, Harry was having to fight the urge to tear it down. He felt as if it were mocking him: it was Valentine's Day, and rather than spending it with Ginny, he was stuck in the office steeped in reports for what had been a long and tiring case, though the hours of surveillance now seemed positively thrilling compared to the paperwork. He reached the bottom of another report and scrawled his signature for what felt like the thousandth time, then shot a bitter look at the left-hand wall of his cubicle, as if his gaze could burn through the other side, where Ron should be sitting. As petty and selfish as it was, Harry might have felt better about being trapped in the office if Ron had been, too - but to general astonishment, Ron had, after going straight to Kingsley for permission, whisked Hermione off to Venice for a long weekend. "Can't see the attraction of a city that's ninety percent water, myself," he'd confided in Harry the previous day, "but Hermione was supposed to go with her parents when she was ten, but then she got a chicken disease, and she's wanted to go ever since."

"Chicken pox," was all Harry had said, as jealousy had pummelled angry fists against his chest. It was ridiculous, really, because it wasn't as if he could have taken Ginny somewhere even if he'd got the time off - for right at this moment, as he glared at a mountain of paperwork, she was most likely sitting in a changing room in Falmouth, perhaps retying her plait or flexing her fingers as she often did pre-match. It would have been nice to watch the match - Harry went to as many as he could, but given his schedule, that number was not nearly as high as he liked. He sighed as he thought of the match, which would be beginning shortly … the Harpies versus the Falcons was always a nail-biter, and Ginny was sure to be on top of her game.

An idea suddenly occurred to him as he caught sight of the wireless balancing precariously on a stack of folders. As luck would have it, Robards chose that moment to pass by Harry's cubicle: Harry leapt to his feet, calling out his boss' name.

"Sir! Could I have the radio on?"

"As long as you keep it down," Robards replied briskly without breaking his gait. Harry cheered inwardly and pointed his wand at the radio, quickly lowering the volume: he tuned it to the right station just as a voice announced that the game had begun.

It was a gripping match, even from miles away, behind a desk: Falmouth were as brutal as ever, according to the rapid commentary, and Harry's heart leapt into his mouth every time he heard Ginny's name - and then soared as she scored goal after goal. When the commentator cried, "Farrell's got the Snitch! Holyhead wins!", Harry had to drive his heels into the floor to stop himself from jumping up and punching the air. His work had moved had a much slower rate for the duration of the match, yes - but it was only paperwork, and in this case, he would put his girlfriend first, every time.

But he found it hard to concentrate even after the radio was switched off, as his mind kept wandering to Ginny, picturing her red-faced and beaming as she performed a lap of victory …

"Working hard, or hardly working?"

For a moment, he thought he was still imagining things: that his desire to see Ginny had conjured up an illusion. But then he blinked, and she was still there, grinning at him from the entrance of his cubicle, still in her Harpies robes and covered in mud.

"Hardly working," he said as he pushed back his chair and got up. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be celebrating with the team -"

"Oh, we've done that enough times, they can miss me just this - wait," said Ginny, looking suddenly puzzled. "How did you know we won? It was barely ten minutes ago!"

Harry pointed to the wireless. Ginny's expression softened. "You listened to the match?"

"Well, since I couldn't be there …" he shrugged. "I'm sorry, I wanted to be, I wanted to spend the whole day with you but -"

"But nothing," said Ginny firmly. "The Auror department needs Harry Potter, I get it." She moved into the cubicle; Harry strode forwards and met her in the middle.

"Do you?" he teased, looking down at her as his arms encircled her waist.

"Well, I certainly want him," Ginny murmured with a wicked glint in her eye that made Harry grow warm. "Say … I know you've been hardly working, you slacker - listening to the Quidditch at work, goodness me! - but d'you think you could possibly take off early?"

"I'll see what I can do," said Harry, his mouth dry. He had never been more determined not to take no for an answer.


	7. The Nest

“Are you awake?”

By this point, twelve years into their marriage, Harry would have thought he’d stopped being surprised by his wife’s unfailing ability to sense his mind whirring when he should have been asleep. 

“No,” he said.

Ginny’s laugh rang through the darkness.

“How did you know?” he asked, rolling over to face her shadowy, blurry profile. 

“I can hear you thinking. Is it tomorrow?” 

“Mm.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“I know. It’ll just be odd, not having him around …”

A pause. “It will.”

“How has it gone so quickly?” Harry wondered. “It seems like only yesterday he was born, and now he’s going off to Hogwarts.”

He felt Ginny shift beside him, sitting up, and a moment later her lamp went on, bathing the room in ochre light. She settled back down, propping herself up on her elbow. Even without his glasses on, Harry couldn’t help admiring how the golden lamplight suited her, warming her bed-rumpled hair and making her eyes appear catlike as she looked at him. 

“I hardly feel old enough to have an eleven year old son,” she sighed. “Imagine how we’ll feel when he’s seventeen, and we’ve seen all three off!”

“The house will be quiet,” said Harry. Considering how much noise their children made, that thought didn’t cheer him nearly as much as it might have done.

“Mum said I was loud enough to make up for all the boys being gone. After I went off, she said she had to put the wireless on full blast so it didn’t seem so strange.” 

“I first saw you at King’s Cross, when you were seeing your brothers off - d'you remember?”

“How could I forget? I was starstruck. The famous Harry Potter!”

“Think, if someone had told you then that you’d end up marrying the famous Harry Potter …”

“I’d have said ‘well, of course, that’s the plan!’” Ginny giggled. “Goodness, I must have looked a right idiot then, though.”

“I thought you were sweet, actually,” said Harry, grinning at her. 

She snorted. “No you didn’t. You were sweet - all nervous about getting onto the platform. Mum was charmed from the start.” 

Harry laughed, but his mind was wandering back to that day, and the reason he’d been so nervous. No parents to see him off. 

He couldn’t quite express how it felt to know that his own children would not know that feeling. Their childhood had been, crucially, so different to his; he had made sure of that. He and Ginny, who knew exactly how important it was that James was taken to King’s Cross by his parents, written to, and welcomed back with open arms at Christmas. 

“James is lucky,” said Ginny, once again reading his thoughts. “Half his cousins already at Hogwarts, and Neville and Hagrid -”

“He’d probably be fine even if he didn’t know anyone,” Harry admitted. His eldest son was as confident and clever as his namesakes, though - Harry hoped - not quite as arrogant, due to his and Ginny’s determination that their children not be spoiled.

“We needn’t worry, really.”

“But we will. We’re his parents, that’s what we’re here for.”

“True.” Ginny heaved a sigh. “I will miss him awfully.” 

“Me too. Do we have to let him go? I mean, really?”

“I think he’d object, have you not noticed how excited he is? He’d grab his broom and fly off on his own. Which I suppose is better than stealing the car …”

“Oi,” said Harry mildly. “That was years ago.” 

Ginny grinned. “If he takes after you at all, we’ll probably get more letters from the school than we do from him.”

“My escapades were well-intentioned,” he protested. “Mostly …”

“Well, thanks to you, he won’t have the excuse of trying to save the world. Not that I expect that’ll stop him trying it.”

Harry laughed. “I feel sorry for the teachers already …”

They fell into comfortable silence. Harry, although he would never claim the same powers as his wife, knew she was thinking about seeing James off tomorrow. He reached out and put his arm around her, and she buried her face into his chest, trying, he guessed, to hold off tears.

The next morning, they both put on a brave face, hustling the three children into some semblance of organisation, which was a job for more than two tired and overemotional people.

“Lily, would you sit down and put your shoes on, I’m not going to ask you again!” 

“James! Don’t think I didn’t see that broom in your trunk!”

“But Muuuum -”

Somehow, by some miracle, the Potters assembled in the hall, James’s trunk and owl at his feet. Lily was already looking distinctly tearful, not for the first time reminding Harry irrepressibly of her mother. 

He looked at Ginny, a twisting sensation in his stomach. 

“Ready?” he asked quietly. 

“As I’ll ever be,” she said, with a sad smile, and opened the door.


	8. Housewarming

On an average day, the city of London moves at such a busy pace that odd things – strange, unexplainable happenings – tend to go unnoticed.   
That grotty little pub on Charing Cross Road, for instance, attracted a surprisingly amount of people during respectable hours, and often those people were dressed most peculiarly. Similarly-dressed folk could often be seen trying to use an out-of-order telephone box not far away, or hovering outside that department store that had been closed for as long as anyone could remember. If these things happened in a small country village, they would have been fallen upon and picked apart every day in the queue at the post office – but they didn’t. They happened in London, and so nobody noticed, and on a grey August morning, when a tall young man led a small red-haired girl off one of the busy, bustling main streets and into a dingy alleyway, the people passing by saw nothing, and cared not at all, which – in this instance – was a good thing.  
After all, had anyone taken note of it, they would not have known that the alleyway was in fact a fairly attractive street lined with properties, or that Harry Potter was not abducting his girlfriend, but rather showing her his new home, accompanied by butterflies in his stomach for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom.   
  
“So,” he said with a confidence he did not feel, bouncing on the balls on his feet. The floorboards creaked in complaint. “What d’you think?”  
  
Ginny was standing in the middle of the floor, sharp eyes taking in every detail. She turned to him with a smile.   
  
“I love it!”  
  
“Really?”   
  
When she nodded, Harry relaxed so much he almost fell over. “Oh, good,” he said fervently. “I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“Why do you care what I think about where  _you_ live?” Ginny asked him, her tone teasing in a manner that suggested she knew exactly why, but wanted to make him admit it. 

“Well, you know … I thought it might put your mind at ease, knowing I’m not having to seek refuge in some beautiful woman’s home because I didn’t have anywhere to live myself.”  
  
Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Ah, but now I’ll be able to picture you bringing home beautiful women instead, so really you’ve just made things worse.”  
  
“I would never bring women back here,” said Harry solemnly.   
  
“Really?”  
  
“Well, yeah. I mean, Ron lives here too, so … I’d probably go to their place.”  
  
He dodged out of the way, laughing, as Ginny launched herself at him. “Kidding! Kidding!”  
  
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to his chest so she couldn’t attempt to attack him anymore, and got in a good sniff of her hair while he was at it.   
  
“Are you sniffing my hair again?” Ginny said into his t-shirt.  
  
“… No.”  
  
“Liar.”  
  
“It’s your fault for making it smell so nice,” he argued. “I can’t help it. Do you really like it here, then?”  
  
“Yes, idiot.” She pulled her face away and craned her neck to look up at him. “Although that might be because it doesn’t smell of boy yet …”  
  
“Give it time. We’ve only had the place five minutes, that’s hardly opportunity enough to leave old socks and pants under the bed and not wash the dishes.”  
  
Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Oooh, I’m lucky to have you.” Her eyes brightened in the way they did when she’d been struck by a thought. “Can I see your bedroom?”  
  
“I’d love to say yes, but you actually need written permission from your mum -”  
  
She ignored that, as she was already wriggling out of his arms and darting towards the nearest door off the hallway. It wasn’t a very large flat – Ron had insisted on being able to pay half of the rent, and Harry hadn’t pressed it, though he planned on making sure he was the one to pay for food and everything else. Still, it was a nice enough place – bare and plain at the moment, but they could change that. He recalled, fondly, Ginny’s decoration of the Burrow at Christmas time, and thought they could probably put her to good use in brightening the flat up.  
  
His bedroom only held a bed and a chest of drawers, but Ginny seemed pleased enough.   
  
“Good bed,” she called approvingly, testing its springiness by the efficient method jumping up and down on the mattress. Slightly out of breath, she flopped down atop the duvet. “I look forward to sneaking out of here in the holidays and pretending to Mum I was at home the whole time.”

“Don’t implicate me in your sordid plans,” Harry warned. “Your mum’ll have my head, and what about Ron?”  
  
“Oh, please,” said Ginny, waving this away dismissively. “He’ll be too busy trying to sneak Hermione out of  _his_  room to notice where I’m sleeping.”  
  
This was something that had not occurred to Harry. His distaste must have shown on his face, because Ginny said amusedly, “What? You must have realised she’d stay here when she’s back from Hogwarts.”  
  
“Well … I didn’t really want to think about it,” Harry mumbled. “I mean, there’s a sofa …”  
  
“Poor boy.” Ginny reached out and patted his arm sympathetically. “It’s all right. I’ll distract you.”  
  
The glint in her eye made all thoughts of Ron and Hermione vanish in an instant. He sat next to her on the bed, where she carefully and thoroughly demonstrated how she might go about distracting him.


	9. The Best Laid Plans

_For hpshipweeks on tumblr, and also for the prompt: 'Ginny proposes. Harry doesn't see it coming.'_

* * *

  
“Gin? Letter for you …” 

 Waving the envelope in his hand, Harry came into the living room, where his girlfriend was recumbent on the sofa, leg propped up on a pile of cushions and mug of tea firmly in hand. It was not often easy to get Ginny to stay still for long, but the previous day’s match against Falmouth had seen her take a nasty Bludger to the knee, and Harry (ignoring her protests that  _he_ never rested when he was injured in the field) was insisting that she remain on the sofa until further notice. 

“Who from?”  
  
He passed it in front of her eyes for inspection.   
  
“Oh, Deb!” she said delightedly. “You remember Deb – from school?” she added to Harry, whose mind produced a hazy picture of a dark-haired girl in Ginny’s year. She made friends wherever she went; it was difficult to keep track of them.   
  
Instead of taking the letter, she turned beseeching brown eyes on him.   
  
“I don’t suppose …”  
  
“I could read it to you?” 

 “Well, I am an invalid, after all.”

Harry tutted with gusto, but perched himself on the sofa arm behind Ginny’s head, and unfolded the letter.   
  
“ _Dear Ginny,_ ” he read aloud. “ _How are you? It’s been far too long since we last exchanged news. I hear your name all the time, how wonderful it is to say I know Harpies star Ginny Weasley! And of course I see the occasional picture of you with that handsome boyfriend of yours. You’re so lucky to be with him, he’s ever so attractive, and so macho. What a catch. He’s really –”  
  
_ “Hmmm,” said Ginny. “I think perhaps you are making this up.”

“Rubbish,” said Harry smoothly, angling the letter so she couldn’t see it. “She’s just very observant.”  
  
“Clearly,” she agreed drily. “Would you read it properly, please?”  
  
“ _I can’t wait any longer to tell you my big news – I’m engaged! Barnaby popped the question on a weekend away to the South of France. I wasn’t expecting it at all – best surprise I’ve ever had! We’re thinking June for the wedding. I do hope you can make it! And Harry, of course. What about you two – any sound of wedding bells on the horizon yet?!”_  
  
Harry stared at the page, his voice sticking in his throat. He desperately wanted to look at Ginny, to gauge her reaction, but forced himself to carry on.  
  
 _“I suppose it’ll be in the paper as soon as he proposes …”  
  
_ Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes momentarily, trying to keep his tone steady as he continued.   
  
 _“Well, I hope we will be able to catch up soon and talk properly, so I’ll leave it here. Maybe lunch one day? Don’t be a stranger! Love, Debs.”  
  
_ “Oh, well, that’s nice,” said Ginny brightly. “I must remember to write back.”  
  
Harry blinked at her. “Yeah … yeah. Er, Ginny?” 

“Mm?”  
  
“What she said …”

“About you proposing?” 

He nodded dumbly.

“Well, I had been wondering when you were going to do it,” she said matter-of-factly, sipping her tea as if what she was saying was of no consequence at all. 

Harry tried to say something, then realised he had no idea what that something might be.

“Right,” he managed eventually. “Right. Yeah. Well -” the fog in his mind cleared slightly – “I can’t tell you  _when_ , obviously. I mean … it’s a surprise. Plans. There are – big surprise plans.”  
  
 _What?  
  
_ “Oooh!” Ginny twisted in her seat, grinning up at him. “Big surprise plans. I like the sound of that.”  
  
“Yeah?” Harry tried to look pleased. “Good. ‘Cause – it’s – good, it’ll be … great …”  
  
“Then I’ve got something to look forward to.”  
  
“Def- definitely.”  
  
It was only when he’d excused himself to the kitchen, under the pretence of making another tea, that the gravity of what he’d done hit him, and he swore violently under his breath.  
  
He was going to have to come up with something big. 

 And fast.  
  
—————-

“What’s the big deal?” Ron, brushing sawdust off his magenta robes, closed the Pygmy Puff cage he’d been cleaning and turned back to Harry, looking puzzled. “Doesn’t matter if she knows you’ve got plans, as long as she doesn’t know what they are, surely?”

“Well, that’s sort of the problem,” said Harry heavily.   
  
“What is?”  
  
“I don’t  _have_ any plans.”

Ron looked at him for a long moment, then, wordlessly, passed him a brightly-coloured lollipop from a nearby shelf. 

“Thanks,” said Harry gratefully, unwrapping it. “I mean, obviously I was going to propose at  _some_ point. I just – I don’t know, we’ve both been busy and it sort of – slipped my mind.”  
  
The last bit of his sentence was obscured slightly by the lollipop, but he thought Ron got the gist.  
  
“So you need to think of some big, surprise plans.”  
  
“Ideally. Sooner rather than later, or she’ll cotton on …”   
  
“Take it from me,” said George, appearing from behind the counter, “it’s very hard to surprise Ginny. And on the off-chance that you  _do_ surprise her – well, be on your guard, she’s prone to hexing when startled.”   
  
The bell above the door jangled as two young boys entered. They clocked Harry, leaning against the counter, and their eyes widened comically.   
  
George, noticing this, looked thoughtful. “Should I put a sign outside saying you’re here?” he asked in an undertone.  
  
“ _No_ ,” said Harry emphatically.  
  
“Why bother?” Ron put in. “It’ll get down the street quickly enough. If anyone at the Leaky saw you come in …”

“I’ll go in a minute. I just need your help,” said Harry. He moved the lollipop around his mouth, and, realising – belatedly - where it had come from, added absently, “this won’t do anything to me, will it?”

  
“Er – no,” said Ron quickly. “So, you need our help?”  
  
“Desperately.” Harry sighed deeply. “I wouldn’t put it past Ginny to already know I’ve got nothing planned …”  
  
———

 “… so I’m fairly sure he’s got nothing planned,” said Ginny, picking up stray crumbs on her plate with her forefinger. “ _And_ I’m even more sure that he’s stressing out about it now.” She regarded her companions worriedly. “He’s got a lot on at work since Ron left, I don’t want him to think he has to put on a big – show, or something, but I know he’ll feel like that.”

“Why don’t you just tell him that you know?” Hermione suggested. 

 Ginny blinked at her. “Yes, but then he might feel bad.” She shook her head. “He’s always doing these grand gestures – surprises for my birthday and Christmas and everything. Just once I want to do something big for  _him_.”

“You could propose,” said Luna unexpectedly.  
  
She continued sipping her Gillywater unconcernedly as Hermione and Ginny both turned to look at her in mild astonishment, meeting their gaze with her usual serene expression.   
  
“Me propose?” Ginny repeated, slightly dazed. The cogs in her brain started turning – and then spinning, rapidly. “I … suppose I could …”  
  
“But Harry’s making plans,” Hermione pointed out. “For  _him_ to propose. And you don’t know when, or where … are you just going to go home and ask him?”  
  
“No,” said Ginny. A plan was already forming in her mind; she felt a tingle of excitement. “Much, much bigger than that.”  
  
“I know that look,” Hermione said warily, eyes narrowing. “You’re plotting something, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yep. But I’m going to need a lot of help.”  
——

Over the next week, Harry struggled to juggle work and constructing plans for a magnificent surprise proposal. It felt like swimming against the tide; he was swamped with cases at the Auror Office, and his rare free time found him too exhausted to think, let alone plan anything. Robards was a decent man, but he did not play favourites, and had always been firm that no one could accuse him of treating Harry any differently to his other Aurors. Harry had only brief, snatched moments of spare time to spend scribbling frantically on scrap bits of parchment, trying desperately to come up with an idea. He met with Ron whenever he could, hoping that two heads would be better than one. More than once, he thought that Hermione might have a better idea of what Ginny would like; but she was incredibly busy herself, and besides, far too close to Ginny (and too terrible a liar) to be sure that she could keep the secret.   
  
It did not help that whenever a fragment of a plan fell into place, he swiftly hit an obstacle. His work schedule became increasingly more hectic as he began to plot, and Ginny was forced to attend more training sessions than ever before as the Harpies geared up for the league final, making his first idea – whisking her away for a surprise trip – implausible.   
  
He soon realised that something big and extravagant was not going to be particularly easy to achieve, but with this realisation came another: if that was what Ginny was expecting, then a small, quiet proposal would surprise her even more. Delighted by his own genius, he promptly used a telephone box in the village to book their favourite Muggle restaurant for the next evening they both had free, intending to simply bring out the ring (the one part of the process that had gone smoothly) at the end of the meal and ask her.   
  
But although luck had always favoured Harry, it was, apparently, not on his side this time. Trying to keep the surprise as long as possible, he waited until Ginny returned home on the day of the reservation to tell her they would be going out for dinner; and at the very moment he opened his mouth, Andromeda’s head appeared in the fireplace.   
  
“I know it’s short notice, Harry, and I’m ever so sorry, but I’ve been called away and I was hoping you could come over and watch Teddy for the evening …”  
  
It was a struggle to keep his disappointment from showing. Harry adored his godson, and he and Ginny ended up having a perfectly enjoyable evening with him, but all the while he was thinking frantically. When would they next have the same evening off? Now that he had the ring, he could hardly bear to waste any more time not being engaged to Ginny. 

They were expected at the Burrow the next day for Sunday lunch. Normally, Harry looked forward to such occasions, but when he thought about what he could have done, had he and Ginny had that time alone …   
  
He was accosted by Arthur immediately after the meal, and lost sight of Ginny, but as her father talked enthusiastically about screwdrivers, an idea struck him.   
  
The orchard beyond the paddock … if he could just get Ginny alone, he could suggest a walk, and there, he could propose. It was secluded and pretty; they had spent hours there in the summer after the battle, sometimes talking, sometimes just lying in silence, appreciating that they were both alive, and  _there_.   
  
He found her in the living room, laughing at something Bill had just said, and approached her quickly.   
  
“Hey – fancy a walk?” he asked casually.  
  
Her eyebrows shot up, and he wondered if she thought he was suggesting something –  _else_. But before he could reassure her, there was a loud shriek, and heavily pregnant Fleur, rising from the nearest chair, cried:  
  
“Oh! Oh! Ze baby! I am ‘aving ze baby!”  
  
There was uproar as the Weasleys rushed to her side, and Harry, stunned, could only stand and watch as Fleur, panting, was hustled out of the door.

——–

By Monday morning, he was getting desperate. A perfectly good opportunity gone – and he wouldn’t have minded so much if Fleur had actually  _had_ the baby, but after several hours she and the Weasleys who had gone with her – including Ginny, with little Victoire - returned from the hospital completely baby-less. 

“Eet must ‘ave been a false alarm,” was all Fleur had said blithely.     
  
Harry had to try very hard not to tear his hair out.   
  
But he had to try again. So as he and Ginny were both getting ready for leave for the day, he said – as casually as he could:  
  
“How d’you fancy meeting for lunch today? Just a short break.”  
  
She looked surprised, but pleased.  
  
“That’d be lovely. Are you sure you can get away?”  
  
“No problem,” said Harry, crossing his fingers in his pocket. “Erm, how about I meet you at that bench overlooking the beach in Holyhead? Looks like a nice day … I’d like to get out of London for a bit.”  
  
Ginny readily agreed, and Harry went off to the Ministry feeling extremely relieved and full of anticipation. It would not, perhaps, be the most romantic nor spectacular proposal, but he knew she loved that spot by the sea, not far from the Harpies’ training ground, where he had come to meet her many times before. They would both have to go back to work afterwards, but hopefully – if all went to plan – by the time he returned to London, Ginny would no longer be his girlfriend, but his fiancée. 

The morning went by in a blur, not least because of the two major arrests the Auror Office had just made; Harry was very aware that he would have to time his exit precisely, as Robards wouldn’t look kindly on him disappearing for too long, and there was always something – some distraction, some task – waiting for him. Dodging all the obstacles would be a challenge … but then, he’d been doing that for most of his life, he thought to himself wryly. 

He and Ginny had chosen to meet at half-past twelve. Estimating that it would take him three minutes to get down to the Atrium and Apparate to Holyhead, Harry slipped out of the office at twelve twenty-four.   
  
He had taken three steps down the corridor when he heard his name being called. With a horrible, sinking feeling in his gut, he turned.  
  
“Just the man I was hoping to see!” said Percy, striding towards him. Harry forced a smile, but panic was setting in: why did it have to be  _Percy_ , of all people, whom he had come across? Percy, who was prone to long-winded digressions …  
  
He greeted him distractedly, beyond trying to hide the strain in his voice.  
  
“I’m jolly glad I ran into you, Harry. I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you for a while. Rather hard to get a word in edgeways when we’re all at home, and of course it’s frantic at home, with the little ones – wouldn’t change it for the world, naturally, but you do miss the peace and quiet!” Percy laughed jovially. “Anyway, as I was saying, there’s something we need to discuss –”  
  
“I’m in a bit of a hurry, actually –”  
  
“Obviously we’re up to our ears in preparations for the World Cup – nothing I can’t handle, obviously, but it’s a lot to sort out! But I wanted to talk to you about security,” Percy went on, either not hearing Harry, or ignoring him. “It’s a big job, and a lot of very careful consideration needs to go into it. Can’t be rushing something like this – even the preliminary conversations – why, like this one! – must be given a lot of deliberation and time.”  
  
“That’s great,” said Harry, hardly listening. Time was passing … “But I really need to go, so perhaps we could resched-”  
  
“Nonsense!” hollered Percy. “What could possibly be more important than this? The World Cup, Harry! A Quidditch fan such as yourself must understand that!”  
  
“Well, yes, but you see, I’ve got plans –”  
  
“Now, as I was saying, the security detail really is very important. I assume you’ll be there, Harry – we need the best Aurors watching out for the safety of the guests! Just because it’s not in England, doesn’t mean we don’t have responsibilities!”  
  
Just as Harry was seriously considering the option of hexing Percy and making a run for it (Hermione’s Full Body Bind on Neville as he attempted to waylay their path to the Philosopher’s Stone sprung to mind), the door of the Auror department opened and Robards stuck his head out.   
  
“Potter, there you are. Come on, you’re needed. Sorry if I’m interrupting something important, Weasley -”   
  
“Oh, not at all,” Percy exclaimed at once. “No, no, Harry, I mustn’t keep you from your work! We’ll find another time to talk … I’ll look forward to it! Bye bye now!”  
  
And Harry, feeling extremely violent towards Percy, had no choice but to follow Robards back into the office, thinking of Ginny, sitting on their bench, waiting for him, and the ring in his pocket that should have been on her finger.   
  
He apologised profusely at first opportunity.   
  
“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, and her understanding made him feel even worse. “I assumed you’d got held up at work. Can’t be helped. It was a nice idea, though.”  
  
“Yeah … work,” he muttered, making a mental note to kick Percy in the shin the next time they were all at the Burrow.   
  
But his resolved was strengthened by the incident. Enough was enough, as he told Ron the next day.   
  
“I begged Robards for the evening off, and he gave in. I had to promise to do a lot of paperwork to make up for it, but …” He shrugged. “It’s worth it. Hopefully.”  
  
“So what’s the plan?”   
  
Harry fiddled with the ring box, which he was carrying around with him. “Ginny’s got the evening off too, so … I’ll cook something, then just do it. Leave no time for any interruptions, or – or anything. I can’t  _take_ it any more. This whole thing has been a bloody disaster.”  
  
Ron pulled a sympathetic face. “Well, I hope it works out for you, mate.”

“Yeah … me too.”

————

He was home a good few hours before Ginny, and made sure that not a single second of that time went to waste: he cleaned the house within an inch of its life, carefully cooked her favourite meal, and even put on clean socks. 

By the time Ginny returned, he was ready.   
  
“What the -?” She let herself into the hall, gazing at him in disbelief. “You’re – home! But -”  
  
“I took the night off. It’s been too long since we’ve had an evening together,” said Harry, smiling at her. In all the chaos of trying to propose, he had missed just  _being_ with Ginny; forgotten how calming he found her presence. “D’you want a glass of wine? Dinner’s almost ready.”  
  
“Well, this is unexpected!” Ginny laughed delightedly, letting him take her cloak. “I might just go and get changed, but wine sounds lovely … oh, Harry, you shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble!” She peered around the hall, and her eyes widened. “Did you  _clean_?”  
  
“Might have done,” said Harry with a nonchalant shrug.  
  
“You treasure. I am  _very_ lucky.” She hopped on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss as she headed towards the stairs. “Just give me a minute, then I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to in the kitchen! It smells  _divine_.”  
  
Harry had to stop himself from dancing for joy as he hung her cloak up in the cupboard under the stairs. It had  _worked_. After everything … he and Ginny were both here, and nothing could stop things from going ahead now -  
  
The flash of light made him stop dead in his tracks. 

Slowly, he bent to pick up the piece of parchment that had floated to the ground in its midst. The Auror Office’s summons. He knew it all too well, but he had hoped – no, he had been  _certain_ – that he would not be seeing it tonight. Robards had promised … he had said …

 _Potter – report to office now.  
  
_ “What’s that?”   
  
Ginny had come back downstairs.   
  
“Oh, no,” she gasped, taking in the slip in his hand. “Not the office! I thought –”  
  
“I know,” said Harry tersely. “I thought, too.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I’m so sorry. I really … I tried …”  
  
“Well, you can’t help this!” said Ginny bracingly, rubbing his arms comfortingly. “I know you put a lot of effort into tonight, but … don’t beat yourself up. We can do it another time. I’m not going to leave you, promise.”  
  
“Really?” Harry said, only half-joking.  
  
“Of course not. You’ve far too much gold.”  
  
He snorted.  
  
“Well, I’d better … go.” He kissed her, wanting nothing more than to hold on and simply stay there, but the parchment was hot in his hand, reminding him that he had other places to be.  
  
Back at the Auror department, Robards greeted him with the briefest flicker of sympathy.   
  
“Sorry, Potter, I know you asked for tonight off, but we can’t always guarantee a quiet night.”  
  
“It’s no problem, sir,” Harry lied bitterly.  
  
Robards filled him in on the case – surveillance work. Fantastic, thought Harry. Bloody fantastic. He would be holed up in a ditch all night, when he could have –  _should_ have – been at home with Ginny, celebrating their engagement.   
 _  
_“You’ll be relieving Andrews, so don’t put your Cloak on right away. Here are the co-ordinates.” He shoved another scrap of parchment into Harry’s hand. Feeling very sorry for himself indeed, Harry left.  
  
He Apparated into almost-blackness, clutching his wand tightly as he adjusted from the disorientation of Apparition. When he regained his composure, he looked around for Andrews – but could see no one. In fact … this wasn’t the wooded enclosure Robards had described. He was standing on a smooth surface, in open air, and – were those  _stands?_ And hoops … and in the distance … a castle …  
  
It looked exactly like – but it couldn’t be … could it?  
  
But as he focused intently on his surroundings, he realised that it couldn’t be anywhere else.   
  
He was on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch.   
  
Harry stared around in total confusion. Robards must have given him the wrong co-ordinates, but what a mix-up – why would he have been sending anyone here? Should he Apparate back to the office, and –

A sudden, high-pitched noise came out of the darkness, and Harry whirled about, wand at the ready – but it was accompanied by a crackle, and then a swift  _BOOM_ , and then the sky was alight with colour; he looked up, and saw, scrawled across the inky canvas, giant letters, sparking, but not fading away, spelling out the word  _WILL_. Or was it a name? Harry gazed at it, utterly bewildered. He had absolutely no idea what was going on. 

The second firework still took him by surprise: a screech, a crackle, and a bang, forming another word:  _YOU_.  
  
Perhaps he ought to have moved, gone back to the office, or up to the castle, to find out just what was happening - but something about the way the letters lit up the sky transfixed him. He watched, heart in mouth, as the third firework exploded into more letters … for a moment he thought it read  _MARY_ , but then he blinked, and saw that it was  _MARRY.  
  
Will you marry …_

He knew what the fourth firework would bring before it did, but still gaped at the whole sentence, fizzing high above him. He felt like something should be clicking into place now, but his whole brain was cotton wool; nothing made sense. Was this – could this be -

“Well?” came a voice behind him, a tenth of a second after he became aware of the flowery scent on the air, and, shaking his head, he turned, half-grinning, half –

 - well, utterly bamboozled. 

  
“Will you?” 

Ginny came towards him across the pitch, and as she walked, hundreds of lights seemed to spring into existence around her, encircling them both, and still the fireworks hung overhead, and Harry struggled to find words – any words.

“I – I can’t –  _you_ – you did –” He shook his head again, as if he was trying to get water out of his ears. “I mean –  _how?_ ”

“Well, it wasn’t easy,” said Ginny reprovingly. “I had a lot of help. But –” she smiled at him, warm brown eyes reflecting the bright colours of the fireworks – “I wanted a big surprise.”  
  
“You certainly managed that,” Harry said faintly.   
  
“It was a lot of work, throwing off all your plans. You don’t give up easily, do you?”   
  
“Wait –” Harry frowned as he digested this. “ _You_ were behind everything going wrong? But  _how?_ ”  
  
“Like I said … I had a lot of help. And we worked hard! Ron had to disclose all your ideas, but even that wasn’t enough – there had to be a bit of improvisation when you went rogue.”  
  
Harry thought back. “Fleur going into labour?”  
  
“Faked.” Ginny nodded. “Completely improvised on her part.” She looked mildly impressed by her sister-in-law’s ingenuity. “Bill cottoned on straight away, but poor Mum was really disappointed.”  
  
Harry snorted. “This is madness … wait, hang on - tonight? Robards …”  
  
“Oh yeah, he’s in on it – he’s been messing with your schedule. And Percy offered to waylay you on your way to Holyhead. Andromeda wasn’t really called out that night, either. McGonagall agreed to take down the Anti-Apparition charms, and Hagrid helped set all this up.”  
  
“All these people,” said Harry in disbelief, “conspiring to deceive me?”  
  
“Conspiring to give you a surprise, for once,” Ginny corrected. “Although I must admit, it was quite fun watching you try not to lose your head over this …”  
  
“You’re terrible.”  
  
“I know. Look, Harry, we all love you, and you’ve done so much for all of us … we just wanted to put on a big spectacle for you, for a change.” Her expression became almost shy as she smiled up at him. “Me, especially.”  
  
Harry found himself once again lost for words as he reached out to enfold her in his arms. “I love you,” he mumbled into her hair, breathing in her flowery scent.  
  
“I love you, too. Hey!” Ginny exclaimed, making him jump. “You didn’t say yes!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I proposed, and you didn’t say yes!”  
  
“Well – obviously, yes, I thought that was obvious –”  
  
She shook her head. “You have to  _say_ it.”  
  
Harry grinned at the obstinate set of her jaw. “All right.  _Yes_ , I will marry you. Oh – wait -” remembering suddenly, he fumbled in his pocket for the little box, from which he extracted the ring. Ginny, beaming – her eyes now over-bright - held out her left hand.  
  
“It’s  _gorgeous_.”  
  
“There,” said Harry, pleased. “Still managed to surprise you a little.”  
  
“Just a tiny bit,” Ginny conceded, kissing him. 


	10. Toast

_Prompt fill: Domestic hinny ft Ginny trying and failing to use muggle devices eg vacuum cleaner/toaster and Harry finding it hilarious._

* * *

Even a month or so in, there are still things about being married – little things – that, when he thinks about them, make Harry feel as if he’s just stepped into a patch of sunshine, like when he finds himself casually saying ‘my wife’, or he catches sight of his wedding ring glinting on his left hand. Or when he’s standing in the Atrium of the Ministry, trying to find a way out of a desperately boring conversation with an official from Magical Games and Sports, and – with a rush of relief – he spots a familiar figure approaching over the official’s shoulder.   
  
He extracts himself with a hasty, “just need a word with my father-in-law over there …” and hurries over to said father-in-law, who greets him with delight.   
  
“Harry! Just the man!” He claps Harry on the shoulder. “Listen, I’ve just sent your wedding present over to your house. It’s all set up, no need to worry about that, just thought I’d let you know –”  
  
“Wedding present? But the wedding was – what, a month ago?” It must be something like that, because it’s been over a week since he finally stopped making fun of Ginny for the sunburn she’d obtained on their honeymoon – particularly on her stomach, left bright pink with a vivid white handprint from where she’d fallen asleep sunbathing. “Besides, you didn’t need to get us a present, Arthur,” he adds. “You both did enough to help with the wedding.”  
  
“Well, this – strictly speaking – isn’t from  _both_ of us,” says Arthur, looking slightly guilty. “In fact, ah, perhaps best not to mention it to Molly at all.  _Not_ that that’s my advice for marriage, Harry, but in some instances … better to keep things, ah, under wraps … anyway, terribly sorry about the delay, but it’s taken me a little while to get it sorted. Still, better late than never, eh? Well, must dash – will we see you on Sunday? Splendid!”

He claps Harry on the shoulder again and rushes towards the lifts, leaving him rather bemused and wondering – a little uneasily - what exactly he’ll find when he gets home. 

  
As it happens, it’s Ginny who arrives back at the cottage first. Harry comes in an hour or so later, sheds himself of cloak, bag and boots, and heads into the kitchen, where his wife, still in her training gear, is standing in the middle of the floor, wand in hand, regarding something with a very steely expression.    
  
“Gin?” says Harry, eyeing her warily. “Er, everything OK?”  
  
“Do you know,” she demands, her gaze not wavering, “what  _this_ is?”  
  
Harry follows her line of sight. On the work surface sits a toaster. White. Relatively new-looking. He recalls his earlier conversation with Arthur, and can’t help but feel slightly relieved.   
  
He looks at Ginny, who’s still glaring suspiciously at it.   
  
“Uh oh,” he breathes, backing away a little. “Where did  _that_ come from?”  
  
“Dad, supposedly.” Ginny points at a note lying next to the toaster. “Harry, what is it? Is it dangerous?”  
  
“It could be,” says Harry, gravely. He gestures at her wand. “You didn’t do anything to it, did you?”   
  
Her eyes are wide. “No. Why? What would happen? Is it not really from Dad, do you think?”  
  
“Hard to say.” He lets out a low whistle, but he can feel the laughter bubbling in his chest – he wants to laugh, he  _mustn’t_ laugh -   
  
“Well, what are we going to –” Ginny breaks off. Harry, staring fixedly ahead, can sense her eyes on him. He can almost feel them narrowing.   
  
“It isn’t dangerous, is it?” she growls.   
  
Shoulders quaking, face in hands, Harry shakes his head.   
  
“You  _bastard_ –”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he tells her, his voice muffled behind his palms. An involuntary snort escapes him. “You just looked so serious –”  
  
“I thought it was going to explode!” Ginny wails, whacking him on the arm. “You total  _git_. Stop laughing, it’s not funny!”  
  
“Yeah, you’re right,” says Harry, wiping at his streaming eyes. “Not funny. Hey, Gin, d’you want me to show you how a toaster works?”  
  
She looks mutinous, her arms tightly folded across her chest. “A  _toaster?_ You’d better be telling the truth this time.”  
  
“I am, I swear – you can ask Hermione.” He moves forward to examine the toaster. There’s no plug, which perhaps has something to do with Arthur’s explanation that he needed to  _get it sorted_.   
  
“Must work without electricity,” he mutters to himself. Experimentally, he gets what’s left of that morning’s loaf out of the bread bin, cuts off a slice, puts it in the toaster and pushes the lever down.   
  
“A toaster,” says Ginny slowly. “It … makes toast?”  
  
“Funnily enough, yes,” Harry says, grinning at her. She throws a tea towel at him, then shuffles gingerly across the floor to peer at the appliance.   
  
“So the bread’s in there? And it’s toasting?”  
  
“Yep.” Watching her curious face, Harry can’t help himself. “You have to keep a close eye on it, though. Make sure it doesn’t burn.”  
  
“What, just watch it?”   
  
“Uh-huh. D’you want a tea?”   
  
She nods absent-mindedly, once again not taking her eyes off the toaster. Harry, suppressing another snort, turns away to fill the kettle.   
  
He’s just getting two mugs out of the cupboard when -  
  
“Aaaah!”  
  
The toast pops up, making Ginny jump violently. Harry puts the mugs down and leans against the counter, laughing so much he feels like he might burst, or, more embarrassingly, wet himself.   
  
“I  _hate_ you,” Ginny shouts over his laughter, “I hate you, I hateyou –”


End file.
